


Kitchen Etiquette

by thatdamneddame



Series: Tulips [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Ordinary People, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamneddame/pseuds/thatdamneddame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kitchen of their new place is, in fact, terrible. Not that it really matters; Clint and Phil, for all they’re technically successful adults, are not exactly kitchen savvy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitchen Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from the feels, and what's a better way to do that than write domestic fluff? Anyways, for all this is a sequel to Tulips, you don't really need to have read it to understand this.
> 
> Beta'd, as usual, by the continuously wonderful prettyasadiagram. That girl really deserves a pony or something.
> 
> Thanks to everyone you read, commented, and left kudos on Tulips. You guys are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

“No one’s bought it and, at this rate, no one’s going to,” says the real estate agent, gazing woefully at the hardwood floors and built in bookcases and afternoon sun filtering in through floor-to-ceiling windows. “It’s a beautiful property, but the kitchen is nowhere up to snuff. So if you’re willing to use a little elbow grease, or if that doesn’t bother you, then we should be able to negotiate a good price.”

From the window they can see a cedar porch covered in the dappled shade of twin oaks. Clint and Phil look at each other and smile.

“No,” Clint tells her, “that shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

 

***

 

“You know, boss man, you can’t keep skipping out on company functions. One of these days Steve is going to show up at your place and physically drag you to one of these things.” Darcy says, blatantly online shopping instead of typing up that memo like Phil requested.

He should yell at her, he should, but somehow Darcy is the best assistant he’s ever had. And somehow he finds himself telling her, defensive, “It’s legitimate. We’re moving this weekend.”

Darcy’s eyebrows make a bid for freedom toward her hairline. “Oh?” Phil is not exactly chatty about his life outside of the office. “You and that hottie husband of yours?”

Phil frowns at her. They’ve had discussions about appropriate workplace discussions. Clint’s ass is not a talking point, no matter how much Darcy pries. “We just bought a place out past Castle Garden.”

“Cool,” Darcy tells him, ignoring his frown with aplomb. It is, sadly, one of her strong points. “Well, if you kids get sick of moving boxes, then you should come play frisbee golf with us. It’ll be fun.”

Somehow, Phil doubts that, but at least Darcy drops it.

 

***

 

The kitchen of their new place is, in fact, terrible. The stove is old and there’s barely any counter space and it only just fits a single person, which is made even better by the fact that you have to walk through the kitchen to get to the back door. When Clint opens the refrigerator to try to figure out dinner, he successfully divides the kitchen completely in two.

“We could have pasta, again,” suggests Clint. They’ve eaten everything from the apartment fridge and have yet to stock up the one at the house. Not that it really matters; Clint and Phil, for all they’re technically successful adults, are not exactly kitchen savvy.

 “One of us needs to learn how to cook,” Phil tells him. They’re going to die of malnutrition within the year, at this rate.

Clint shuts the fridge door and grins, a challenge. “You first.”

Which, long story short, is how they learn that the pizza place two blocks over is pretty much only selling overpriced botulism.

 

***

 

“How was moving?” asks Darcy on Monday. Her nose is sunburned and there’s a new dusting of freckles on her cheeks. Phil would never tell her this, but it sort of makes her look radiant.

“It wasn’t,” Phil tells her. He spent all Sunday either in bed or in the bathroom, trading places with an equally sick Clint. It had not been one of their finer weekends. “We got food poisoning.”

Darcy grimaces. “Bummer, dude. You should have come to the barbeque. Jane’s hot boyfriend Thor brought chili.”

This means absolutely nothing to Phil. He smiles weakly at her. “Maybe next time.”

 

***

 

“When you said ‘housewarming’ and ‘dinner party,’ I expected a few more people.” Natasha takes a careful sip of her wine like she’s making a point.

Clint shrugs, comfortable with her particular brand of hostility. “Nick’s out of town, and we don’t like really inviting Maria places without a Nick-buffer.”

Natasha’s gaze flicks between Clint and Phil, assessing. “You’re both pathetic. Even I have more friends than you,” she informs them, and then, to Phil, she asks, “Don’t you know anyone from work?”

Now it’s Phil’s turn to shrug. “I’m a consultant. Technically, I’m only subcontracting.”

Natasha downs the rest of her wine in one truly impressive gulp. “Pathetic.”

 

***

 

Steve Rogers stops by Phil’s office.

“Phil,” he says, “you didn’t make it out to the company picnic. Everything okay?”

When Nick Fury had given Phil the SI job, he expected a challenging work environment and a steady paycheck. Phil did not expect a crash course in how to make friends in his forties. Still, he likes Steve well enough. He’s competent and fair and has no problem calling someone out when the need arises. He has no problem calling out _Tony Stark_ when the need arises.

“Everything's fine,” Phil tells him. “I was moving on the weekend.”

Steve’s face softens. “You and your husband buy a new place?”

“The apartment was getting a bit small,” Phil explains. When he told his aunt the same thing, she’d said something about _the pitter patter of little feet_. His sisters had been completely useless in helping him out of _that_ conversation.

Steve doesn’t make any terrible comments about procreation, though, thank God. He just smiles and says, “Maybe we’ll see you at the annual meeting, then.”

“Maybe,” Phil agrees.

 

***

 

In retrospect, Clint and Phil should have maybe bought a new stove before this one promptly caught itself on fire while Clint was making French toast.

“One day,” Clint says mournfully, dumping burnt toast covered in flame retardant white foam into the trash can. “One day I will make the perfect French toast.”

Because Phil loves his husband, he takes him to IHOP and doesn’t call him out on the obvious lie.

 

***

 

“You come here often?” Darcy grins, childishly charming. She’s wearing glasses and a beanie and unironic flannel, a small group of clearly hung-over twenty-somethings hanging out behind her.

“Our stove broke,” explains Phil diplomatically. “You remember Clint.”

“How could I forget,” Darcy says, shaking Clint’s hand. “US Marshall, right?”

Clint grins. “Yes, ma’am. Words With Friends champion, right?”

Darcy’s smile changes from something perfunctory to genuinely delighted. Phil always knew letting Clint and Darcy meet would be a bad idea. “And don’t you forget it.”

From behind them, one of Darcy’s friends yells, “Yo, Darce, we’re moving out,” and Darcy turns to wave them off.

“Looks like that’s me,” she says. “See you Monday, boss. Nice to meet you again, Mr. Boss.”

Clint grins as Darcy leaves. “I see why you like her.”

There is no use lying to Clint; he’s always seen through all of Phil’s bullshit. So Phil just sighs, “Don’t remind me,” and Clint, for the first time ever, doesn’t.

 

***

 

The less that is said about how Phil throws out his back, the better.

 

***

 

For someone possessing the obvious character flaw of being fond of Tony Stark, Pepper Potts is surprisingly delightful. She is competent and intelligent and, when she walks in on Phil popping an aspirin and attempting to find a comfortable position to sit in his chair, she only smiles and asks, “Pull your back moving?” fully knowing that he and Clint officially declared themselves all moved in a month ago.

“Something like that,” Phil tells her. Really, Phil should have put his foot down when it came to having sex in a kitchen that is smaller than an airplane bathroom, but he’s always had a hard time saying no to Clint.

Pepper’s smiles turns wicked, but she doesn’t pry. Phil thinks that she and Natasha would get on like a house on fire, and then he promptly thinks that he should do everything in his power to make sure that they _never_ meet.

“I’m getting a head count for the annual meeting. You’re coming, aren’t you?” Pepper asks. “I still haven’t met that husband of yours.”

“He might be out of town,” Phil demurs. The life of a Marshal is, at times, unpredictable. “Work.”

“You should come anyways,” Pepper tells him. “There’s going to be an open bar.”

Later, Phil won’t really be able to explain why, but Pepper is smiling and promising free booze. “Well, then,” Phil finds himself saying, “put me down.”

 

***

 

“This is a good thing,” explains Natasha, voice muffled, legs sticking out awkwardly from where she’s laying underneath the sink. “Drink your free booze, schmooze a little, and then get the hell out of dodge.”

“I still don’t think you have more friends than us,” Clint informs her, jumping out of reach when she tries to kick him. “Did you figure out the problem yet?”

Natasha clambers out from under the sink and dusts off her top. “Yes, you bought a house with a death trap for a kitchen. Also, you’re a terrible handyman.”

“Aw, Nat. Harsh.” Clint grins. Natasha is, after all, telling the truth.

“Next time, let Phil handle the home repairs. You just stand in the corner and look pretty.”

Phil, from where he’s sitting in the breakfast nook, salutes her with his coffee mug, and in the face of Clint’s indignation, Natasha laughs.

 

***

 

The annual meeting is, as expected, dull. But it means that Clint dresses up in a lavender shirt and pair of slacks, which Phil is always okay with. They sit at a table with Sitwell and Rhodes, and when Tony Stark comes around for the requisite handshaking, he only makes three terrible comments about Clint being Phil’s trophy husband.

“I like to think it’s because of my excellent skills in the kitchen.” Clint laughs, hand on Phil’s lower back, where it’s only just stopped hurting. He’d had to get the name of a good chiropractor from Pepper.

Phil pinches Clint under the table. “I wouldn’t call the amount of coffee you make a skill,” Phil says, dry, because he knows it will make Clint smile.

“Hey, never look a gift horse in the mouth,” Tony tells them both sagely before moving on to heckle Rhodes, another seemingly decent person bewitched by Tony Stark.

Other than that, the night sort of goes, well, _well_. No one is more surprised than Phil.

 

***

 

Clint comes home after a week out of town, declares, “I have been designated to bring forks,” and kisses Phil so thoroughly that he forgets to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean for two whole hours.

Later, Clint, putting a bag of frozen steamer vegetables in the microwave, says imperiously, “It means that apparently everyone in the office thinks I’m a terrible cook.”

Phil stands in the doorway and looks meaningfully at the microwave and then at the plate of as yet un-microwaved breaded chicken patties. “And?”

Clint deflates. “Why can’t I just make coffee? I’m good at coffee. I’m _great_ at coffee.”

“Because the amount of coffee you drink could kill a horse. It’s a miracle of science you’re still alive.”

“Aw, Phil,” Clint coos, “you say the sweetest things.”

They’ve been married for a while now, so Clint understands that the dish-towel thrown at his head is a sign of affection.

 

***

 

(Clint brings forks. No one wants a repeat of the Cookie Incident of ‘09. No one.)

 

***

 

When Darcy says, “Office Christmas party, boss. Bring a dish to pass,” Phil kind of feels sorry for giving Clint a hard time about the forks thing.

“How do you know I’m going?” he asks instead. Darcy’s face does something complicated, and Phil hasn’t felt so judged since that unfortunate year in middle school when he had headgear.

“Dude, I know your family’s in Toronto. We’re your only option.” She’s right, of course. Darcy is, for better or worse, unfailingly competent. She also knows better than to call him ‘dude,’ but Phil has learned to pick his battles.

“Besides,” she adds, “you like us.”

“Do I, Miss Lewis?”

Her grin is, sort of, ridiculous. “You do,” she agrees. Phil steps into his office before he does something terrible like smile back.

 

***

 

Phil mans up, does a shot of Jack, and calls his sister. “I need mom’s Christmas casserole recipe,” he tells her. There’s a lot of drunk yelling in the background. Phil is glad he passed on the invite to spend the holidays with his sister’s in-laws.

“What, are you actually going to cook something?” his sister asks, sounding far more outraged than she has any right to be. She’s not that much better of a cook than him. “Phil, your kitchen’s a death trap.”

“Janet,” Phil sighs, “I just need the recipe. I get enough abuse at home.” This is not exactly true. Clint is standing nearby, quietly laughing himself to death because he thinks that Phil and his sister are hilarious together, holding up a sign that reads _You can do it! Calls to Canada are now crazy cheap_ in purple glitter pen.

Janet sighs the patented Coulson-sigh in return, sounding resigned to her brother inevitably burning down his brand new house in his kitchen designed for Lilliputians. But, she at least gives up the recipe. Phil counts it as a Christmas miracle.

 

***

 

It takes him five attempts before he produces a casserole that is neither a fire nor a health hazard. Phil then has to make three more casseroles before he can reproduce the effect and have something he can actually serve to the public.

He has never, in his whole life, been so proud of something he’s made with his own two hands.

 

***

 

Phil spends so much time giving himself a crash course on cooking, that he forgets to freak out about having to attend a work party with Tony Stark, a wide variety of people Phil never talks to, and a wider variety of people that he has pulled into tiny meeting rooms in order to more easily intimidate them into following the security protocols that Phil has literally spent all of his time working on.

“It’s nice to see you cutting loose,” remarks Darcy, three drinks in but remarkably still sober. There are fuzzy snowmen on her sweater. Phil remembers being twenty-four and feeling invincible. He doesn’t think he pulled it off quite as well as Darcy does.

“It’s nice to see you at all,” adds Steve, looking like every single choirboy who had ever broken Phil’s heart.

Phil shrugs. He’s not really one for attention, even if it’s positive. “Pepper promised an open bar,” Phil tells them, casually lying. It makes Steve and Darcy laugh, though.

“Who cares about the open bar,” Clint gushes, returning from the buffet clutching a plate piled high with food to his chest like it’s his last meal. “Babe, you can _cook_.”

This makes Steve and Darcy laugh even more, but really, they don’t understand. This is a red-letter day in the household of Clint and Phil. And it only took them seven years.

 

***

 

Pepper’s smile is small but genuine when she says, “I’m glad you could make it, Phil. It’s nice to have someone sane at these things.”

Jane Foster and her impossibly large boyfriend Thor are standing nearby, laughing at something Darcy said. Tony and Steve and Rhodes are debating something, all of them talking with their hands enough that they could coordinate the Blue Angels. Beside him, Clint has his hand resting on the small of Phil’s back.

Feeling warm and loved and happy, the way you only do with good food and good people, Phil admits, “Well, it gave me a chance to learn to cook. We might even have to upgrade our kitchen.”

Pepper laughs and Phil thinks, yeah, he can do this.

 


End file.
